


Only Know Fear

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Peter Parker, Blood, Civil War Team Iron Man, Crying, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Ned Leeds, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Misses Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Returning Home, Scared Peter Parker, Scared Tony Stark, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Torture, Tortured Peter Parker, Vomiting, Worried Ned Leeds, not wanda and steve friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Y-You came?” Peter says breathlessly, “You’re actually here?”It’s all it takes for Tony’s heart to shatter.(or: peter and ned are kidnapped, tortured and it’s a race against time to find the two teenagers before it’s too late. angst, humiliation, and crying ensues.)
Relationships: Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker & Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker & Avengers Team & Original Character(s), Peter Parker & Original Male Character(s), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	1. just hold on and i won’t be long

**Author's Note:**

  * For [floweryfran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/gifts), [queenofcryptiids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofcryptiids/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ned, I need you to look at me, okay?" Peter says, and his voice cracks from the emotion. There's un-shed tears in his eyes, Ned's too.  
> Ned turns to look at him and his lip quivers.
> 
> "I won't let them touch you." Peter nearly cracks then and there, "Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a work in progress! this has been sitting in my drafts for nearly a full month and i gotta post it before it disappears tomorrow  
> i don’t have an update schedule, i update at random.
> 
> TW: vomiting (idk if that's a trigger but i'll put it there.)

Static-fills his mind, loud and grating against his senses. His eyes feel like they're glued shut.

Thick chains are digging into the skin on his wrists and they scrape against the cold, damp cement. The noise causes him to groan. It's beginning to smell suspiciously like mold, maybe even something rotten.

His stomach clenches, bile rises up his throat and Peter inhales sharply. He's suddenly choking on vomit, chunks of his dinner spilling onto his front. It's disgusting and the smell alone causes him to retch again and leave his throat burning.

There's vomit pooling in his lap, an uncomfortable warmth on the front of his jeans, and it slips between the material on his thighs. His mouth hands open, more chunks falling from his lips.

Tears are building behind his closed lids. He feels five again, when he uses to get sick on himself before he was able to make it to the bathroom. Ben would swoop in and strip him from his soiled clothes, wipe his tears and reassure him.

Peter gasps, his stomach clenches once more. His mind is jumbled and he doesn't want to open his eyes. He does it anyway.

The color of the vomit sliding down his front looks near orange, he looks away before he gags again. Red, rusted chains are wrapped tightly around his ankles, and his toes feel cold. He can't feel his feet and his hands are secured in a similar fashion, a long metal pipe beside him. 

There is in fact three dead rats scattered in a triangular shape, belly's to the dripping ceiling. Water splashes against his face.

Peter knows there's something wrong with him, there's a high-pitched ringing in his ears and his hands shake from behind him. His gaze travels across the room and he gasps softly.

Ned is shackled up with chains in a similar fashion to Peter, except there's a long chain that hangs from the ceiling wrapped around his wrists.

The edges of his fingers are purple, some bent awkwardly in random directions. A long gash across his forehead causes some minor alarm. It's still bleeding slightly, and the blood turns dark in his lashes. Sweat is dotted across his hairline.

He shifts from his spot across the room. A low pitched groan falls from his lips. His eyes crack open, glazed and unfocused, even with the shitty lighting it's obvious that Ned's pupils are dilated, the white of his eyes bright red.

"Ned!" Peter winced at his scratchy voice. 

Any noise echoes and bounces off the walls of the room, amplifying the scrapes of chains and scratchy voices. Peter swears that his vision doubles and his head feels like it submerges itself underwater. 

Ned glances along the walls until he locks eyes with Peter, his lip begins to quiver. Un-shed tears are in his eyes already. 

"Hey, hey,” Peter says, "Are you okay?" 

The question lingers in the air for a couple minutes as Ned's unfocused eyes lock onto his purple fingers. Peter rattles his own chains that are behind his back, his wrist popping uncomfortably and he grunts. 

His mind isn't all there yet, neither is Ned's, and everything's dimmed in his usually hyperactive head. Water is still dripping from the ceiling, some of it splashing against his face. Ned groans again.

"What even happened?" Ned asks, though his speech is slurred. He tires to tug at his chains and only stops when Peter levels him with a glare. 

"I don't remember,” Peter replies honestly.

He closes his eyes again. He was already exhausted, his neck stiff from his uncomfortable position. He allows his head to drop onto his chest, opts to ignore the squelching noise his vomit makes when his chin digs into his chest, and nearly drifts off then and there.

He sees figures dancing behind his lids, figures painted white or pink. It reminds him of his aunt, when she would dance in the living room with a glass of wine in her left hand. In her left would be Uncle Ben's badge, she held it tightly above her right breast and hummed along to the songs that sang in languages he didn't know too well.

May would dance like nobody was watching, as if she were retracing her steps from a night Peter never knew. 

She used to dance with Ben in the living room sometimes, their laughter would bubble around the apartment.

Ben swore up and down that the three of them would move into a house where the living room would be bigger, and they could include Peter in their evening dances.

They would sing along to songs from the 80s, dance until bed time and do it again whenever they wanted. May had always smiled when Ben would talk about the future, she'd smile when he said anything really.

May used to smile so much when Ben was still alive, her eyes almost always had lines crafted from her laughter whenever her husband did anything really.

Tears build behind his lids, he begins to cry softly.

Gosh, he misses May with everything in his being. He misses her hugs, reassuring words and the soft kiss to his cheek before he would go on patrol.

She couldn't kiss him on his forehead like Uncle Ben — she'd always been the shortest in their trio — so instead May would cup his face into her hands, and kiss his cheeks once to say goodbye, two for _I'll see you later Petey Pie._

It hurts his heart to think of it now, shackled to a cold metal pipe and vomit down his front.

"I... I think we left. To get-" Ned burps, "To get snacks."

He trails off and Peter's head feels like a boulder against his chest. 

"For a movie night? Right?" Peter slurs back, eyes still closed. He hears Ned hum, an end to their conversation. 

Moonlight seeps into the cold room and dances across the concrete walls from the high up windows, thick, metal bars spread not too far apart, and it illuminates his side of the room.

He tugs on the chains, they pinch his skin back. He can't break them in his drugged state and it drags a frustrated growl from the back of his throat.

His _spidey-sense_ — Mister Stark always poked fun at him when they talked about his sixth sense, because who the hell calls it that? And rightfully so, Peter would be offended because Ned came up with it. Ned can come up with good nicknames sometimes — was fairly quiet at the moment, no hum or buzz at the base of his neck.

A new wave of fear washes over him, he can't help the sob formed from his lips, he didn't have a clue what was coming. The anticipation is enough to drive him up the wall because there was always a thrum under his skin.

He couldn’t feel, nor hear, a thing he should have been able to.

Sure he's been kidnapped before, but that was when he was Tony Stark's personal intern to his kidnappers. Hell, he had been kidnapped as Spider-Man before.

 _Now_ he was Peter Parker, his best friend was approximately twelve or so feet away from him, and he had no memory of what happened. He didn't know if rescue was already on its way, or if anyone even knew.

"I-It was some movie Mister Stark suggested," Ned licks his lips and eyes Peter again. "Some new sci-fi crap, right?"

Footsteps click against the concrete floors, effectively shutting them up. Peter casts his gaze downward, his shoes continue to scuff the ground as he squirms. Ned attempts to sit up as best as he could, only manages to hit his head on the wall and scowl loudly. 

Keys dangle, there's some noise behind the door for a few moments, the it's swinging open. The door slams against the walls.

Ned and Peter jump in their spots, stifle their yelps of surprise and stare apprehensively at the group making their way through the door.

It was a strange combination. One woman with sharp features and porcelain colored skin, blonde hair swept into a neat bun atop her head, stood beside a large man. He cracks his knuckles and his smile is sinister, it sends fear running through Ned's veins. There's another woman with sharp green eyes and blood red lipstick that steps forward first.

Her shoes don't scrape as she walks towards Ned, in fact they’re damn near silent. Her chin is high and her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, tight atop her head. She reaches up and swiftly unwraps the tight chains around Ned’s wrists.

It leaves Peter confused from his spot on the floor. She just left one of her victims with the ability to retaliate and that’s that? Ned simply sighs in relief and rubs his wrists with his numb fingers, the chains clattering to the floor. 

There’s no words spoken, not a single exaggerated breath. She comes over and does the same to the chains wrapped around Peter’s wrists.

”It is not my goal to hurt you, though I cannot speak for my... _crew,_ ” The woman speaks, “I simply want one thing from you, and I will get it by all means. Even if that means hurting the ones you love. But while you’re here, you shall refer to me as _Ponas_ during your visit.”

She chuckles to herself as if it’s funny, watching Peter squirm under her uncomfortable gaze. Ned is looking as best he can, his ankles still bunched together with rusted, metal chains. Her skin is whiter than her teeth but she smiles at him anyway and she leans forward until the tips of their noses are touching, almost like she wants it to be intimate.

Ponas caresses the end of his jawline, and he grunts in displeasure, but she shushes him before a sound escapes his lips.

”I’ve done my research Mister Parker. You have managed to lose both your parents and your uncle before you even graduated high school, you’re at the top of your class at Midtown Tech along with Mister Leeds,” She takes the time to smile over at Ned who glares at her, “And you just so happen to have powers. Enhancements, so you say.”

“Now while my _crew_ may look down on you for such, I find it truly... right. You deserve these powers Peter,” Ponas smiles at him.

Peter hates the way his heart begins to hammer against his ribcage. She knows of his power, enhancements, she knows about his parents and Uncle Ben, and he still cannot figure her out.

Her accent is hidden behind her phrases and she’s not your average twenty year old American woman. She could’ve been wearing a mask if he didn’t know better.

He licks his chapped lips and inhales as steadily as he can, Ponas is still watching him for a reaction and she catches the way he fidgets under her warm hand. Her smile widens comically.

”I’m not here to make your life harder Peter Parker. But I just want one thing, and I’ll get that no matter what through a series of tests you’ll participate in,” She turns her head, “Food will be placed at your feet every six hours, technically four meals a day, you get two bathroom breaks every twelve hours. For now you may cozy up.”

Ponas stands at her full height and gestures to the duo standing beside her. “You shall refer to them as _Budelis_ and _Tikslas_ but I have more men. These two will be bringing in your meals, carrying out procedures that are necessary.”

Budelis and Tikslas step forward. The woman with her blonde hair in a bun kneels in front of Peter and removes the chains around his ankles, hauling him to him feet.

Her jagged nails dig into his bicep, the man taking his other arm with a strong grip. There would definitely be a bruise later.

Ned begins to shout at them and digs his tingling fingers into the concrete, his voice echoing throughout the room.

Ponas takes a needle from a tray— _where did that come from?_ —and flicks at it with her middle finger and plunges it precisely into Peter’s neck. He groans at the pinch in his skin and tenses under Budelis and Tikslas’ hold, they tighten their grip in response.

His shoulders droop promptly and he becomes putty in their arms. Ned is still yelling, tugging on the chain around his ankles and the veins in his neck are bulging but Ponas ignores him.

A potato sack, one that still had dirt clinging to it's inside, is tugged over his head and they begin spinning him. Whatever Ponas injected him with is taking effect and his head vision swims, his tongue heavy in his mouth. 

Peter can't keep track after the fifth spin and he can't even be mad, his focus now on the nausea creeping up in him. Budelis, Tikslas and Ponas tug on his arms and lead him somewhere, leaving Ned behind. His screams are cut off once the heavy door closes behind them. Peter's scared out of his mind right now and his fingers tremble at his sides. 

"It's alright Pete." Ponas murmurs from in front of him, he can't help but flinch away from her.

Ponas reminds him of his mother, of Aunt May, and it makes him whimper pathetically under the potato sack. His mother would caress his chin the same way Ponas did earlier, same gentle, warm hand and soft voice.

It was scary to compare them, downright wrong, and he _knows_ that, but he misses his mother and he misses Aunt May with every fiber in his being. He can't remember past the school day and it surely couldn't have been too long since he's been gone, Ned either, but it didn't make it any less scarier. 

These hands on his skin are like fire and he hates it.

He shoes squeak against tile, then the potato sack is ripped from his head. He flinches back. Through squinted eyes he sees tile running up the walls and a shower head runs with steaming hot water. Ponas smiles kindly at him.

"I figured you would like to clean up for your stay," Ponas quirks her eyebrow.

"You say that as if it's a choice,” Peter glares at her.

The smile falls from her face and she shoves him into the space behind her, pulling a small shower liner between them. It's about five feet tall and the hot water runs down his back. He huffs defiantly and watches her address the woman, Budelis, in a different language. The woman stands with a nod, Ponas leaves. 

The woman turns to him with cold eyes, "You have ten minutes to wash."

Peter feels small under their gazes, tries not to think about the fact the woman continues to stare at the back of his head after he strips from his soiled clothes. He uses the wash cloth and bar soap to wash off as best as he can, opting to leave his hair alone. Budelis cuts off his water a few moments later. She throws him some spare clothes.

He tries not to think of who they belong to and just pulls them on. Tikslas takes his shoes from him and tugs the potato sack back over his head again.

Peter nearly forgets that they had drugged him again until they spin him on the spot again and he trips, his vision swims in front of him. 

Their grip is firm on his upper arms and they drag him out the room, his bare feet dragging against the concrete floors. Budelis murmurs in a different language, Tikslas grumbles back and one hand leaves his upper arm. Voices fill the once silent space.

"I don't trust you!" It's Ned, he's screaming again, and Peter can just imagine the way his veins would bulge under his skin and spit collecting at the corners of his mouth. And Peter's right, because they take off the potato sack and it's exactly what's in front of him.

"I didn't do anything bad to him," Ponas nearly sneers at the poor boy, "He's right here."

Ned's angry, arched brows that don't relax and he continues to seethe. They wrap Peter's ankles in chains again and drop him against the metal pipe from earlier. Ned's eyes only leave Ponas' figure to glance at his best friend. The concern is there like a raging house fire.

"Breakfast is in two hours boys," Ponas talks in a sing-song voice, then she's gone along with Budelis and Tikslas.

It's quiet in the room again. Ned's breath is quick and he huffs angrily until he slumps over in defeat. The rusted chains are wrapped around his wrist again for yelling at Ponas, cursing at her to her face when she returned after a few minutes.

Peter blinks through his bleary vision and realizes this hazy period, where there's nothing but silence and the anticipation of what's to come, isn't going to last past sunrise.

It never does, and he's foolish to think it would, or that Mister Stark would be here already to rescue them, and he's downright wrong to be grateful that he's not alone. Ned sits no more than twelve feet from him and it's terrifying to think of what's to come.

Ponas may not have outright threatened to hurt his family, the ones he would do anything for, but it was implied all for an answer he doesn't know if he has in the first place.

When Peter takes the time to glance over at Ned, he's completely shocked.

Ned is absolutely seething in his spot, frustrated tears framing his face and his teeth grinding together. He's rubbing his wrists raw, the chains not budging at all. 

He's never seen anything like this, Ned's usually bubble-like persona nowhere to be found.

"How are you so calm?" Ned asks. His eyes won't meet Peter's, they're trained right on the barred windows where the sunrises begins to seep into the space in between.

"You-You just let them take you! Like it was okay!"

Peter frowns into his chest, "I didn't want to find out what they would do if I showed a struggle."

"Peter we have no clue what they're gonna do to us! I-I don't want to find out either but what if-"

"Ned,” Peter sighs in defeat, because he knows that Ned is right in a sense, "I just-I just don't wanna find out yet. And it's scary but I-I just wanna sit in silence. Please."

Ned is quiet after that, scrunching his eyes shut. Tension settles between them and Peter tries to pretend it's not their, his eyes are turning misty and he can't hear past his own labored breathing.

His emotions are running wild, drugs still in his veins. He misses home already.

The worst hasn't even begun.

"Pete?" The quiver in Ned's voice is strong.

"Ned, I'mma get us out of here." Peter slurs into his chest, but he locks eyes with Ned, whose looking at him with eyes that radiate _trust_ and it hurts to lie to him now. When Ned trusts him so much, relies on him to get them out of there.

"Okay. I trust you." Ned replies, and it hurts a little more.

Ned doesn't say anything when Peter begins to cry softly and simply watches the colorful sunset through the windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll go over this and edit any mistakes after i write chapter two. 
> 
> i translated these on google, (ponas-sir) (tikslas-purpose) (budelis-executioner)
> 
> i swear that this plays into everything later on,
> 
> comments are always appreciated!


	2. fill you with fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this is everywhere im sorry, but it went 0 to 100 real quick
> 
> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS: sexual assault, violence, torture
> 
> foreshadowing ahahahahahahahaha

"Do you know what my favorite way to torture someone is, Budelis?"

Ponas isn't addressing him, but she strikes him with a cane, it's dizzying in a way.

"It's called a choke pear, or the pear of anguish. It's origin is unknown, but it's first mention was in France. The choke pear was reserved for women, homosexuals, and liars. This pretty little thing is shaped like a ripe fruit, four sharp, metal _'leaves'_ , an intimate design. Literally-once inserted into the vagina, anus, or mouth, the device was cranked open. The wider the leaves got, the more mutilated the victim became."

Tikslas took it upon himself to cut the pants until the rolled up mid-thigh, the bare, strawberry-freckled legs on full display.

Ponas called them beautiful, ran the curve of her nail from his bony ankle up to his inner thigh. He choked back a sob.

Her words were loud, rattling in his brain until they became distorted and it sounded like Betty Brant or sometimes, MJ. 

Ponas strikes his knees again with her cane, a sharp _smack!_ reverberating around the walls. There's a steady drip and Peter can imagine a puddle forming in the corner, just like how he could imagine the red welts on his already colored knees.

His world is dark and the blindfold is knotted in his hair.

"Of course it's more... medieval torture. When I was your age, I was fascinated with such. Torture, tools like pliers or Heretic's Fork. Devices that could prevent sleep, speech, they lead to delirium and I wanted to know more, have a more hands on experience."

The water drip is steady, constant. It's loud.

Drugs alter his sense of taste and he feels stuffed with cotton. It's a game of Operation, if they picked him apart they'd find cotton with seeds still in it's middle.

"That's why you're here, Peter," Ponas flicks the tip of his nose, her breath on the faint dust of freckles on his cheeks.

"But you have a high endurance, correct? So really, all wounds I inflict upon you would heal in impressive time. Right?"

He doesn't answer.

She runs her fingers through his tangled hair and tugs her way gently through the knots. His breath is stuck in his throat. He can hear the smile on her lips and the way they spread. It's crackling in his ears, fireworks on the Fourth of July ever since the bite.

"But psychological torture is more complex," Ponas murmurs, and her nail traces his calf, "Not all those wounds heal, do they Peter?"

He pinches his lips together firmly.

"They're always there, never quite gone. You can feel it in your core, and it makes you wonder, wonder if you deserve the help,” Ponas is rambling at this point, loudly too.

"It's a nightmare based off reality, a shadow overcoming your thoughts. Tell me Peter, do you think about it often?"

Ponas stands, the grinding of her bones until they _pop!_ at her full height is slightly muted and she circles him again, like a shark and she's about to strike.

His body quivers when she loops her middle finger in a singular curl at the nape of his neck.

"Do you think about the people you can't save? The people who fail to reassure themselves that Spider-Man is coming, and as the time ticks and ticks, they begin to lose hope in their hero as they bleed onto the stick alleyways or those that cry after being hit by their mothers, fathers or partners, the ones who are raped relentlessly."

Peter hangs his head, but she yanks it back up. Her fist is full of his hair. If she wanted to she could rip it right out of his scalp.

Ponas struck him and he's left with sharp teeth lodged in his chest, his breathing sharp through his nostrils _in and out_ like Sam reminded him time and time again.

He thinks about it, every second he's alone. Every second he wastes just standing there when he could be swinging into action, pushing himself to be better, protect his city.

"The people are losing hope, Spider-Man. All because baby wants to be an _Avenger!_ " Ponas growls, the cane has his head turning from the impact on his left cheek. 

Pain blossoms there. She digs her nails into the same spot and it's like a supernova behind his eyelids that are squeezed shut.

"You're wasting your time, Pete. The Avengers don't care about you, and they especially don't care about Ned. He's smart though, you both are, but that's not what matters here. It's already been nine days since you've been here, in my care, though you were unconscious for over a day,” Ponas drums her fingers against his cheek, "All this effort for a team holding on by a thread."

Peter breathes heavily through his nose, his eyes hot behind the blindfold. It's quiet except for the dripping water and he wants to wrench out of her hold and scream until his throat is raw because he _knows._

He spends too much time trying to impress the Avengers with dumb mob bosses and underground drug dealers that nearly get him killed, just for them to tell him _no._

He's a child, and that's what they were trying to tell him all along. He's forgotten the reason this all started and he wishes Budelis would just take that gun that's always strapped to her hip and pull the trigger.

Clint would stare at him sometimes with a certain look in his eyes and shake his head, and no matter how much Peter tried to ignore it, it drove him insane.

His knees are to his chest and they ache terribly, the stress position has his legs weak and seconds from giving. Ponas runs her hands through his hair and suddenly yanks the blindfold off, strands of his hair stuck between the cloth. Peter grunts and the bright lights take place. He feels goosebumps rush up his arms. 

Budelis ambles toward him with a pair of sharp scissors and her heels click behind him. She takes the hem of his shirt and cuts up the curve of his back smoothly, it drapes and Ponas tugs it off his shoulders until he's shirtless.

Budelis begins to cut through the rest of his pants and he flinches back, a disgruntled yelp sounds from his throat.

She ignores him and continues cutting even as he squirms, but eventually his shorts and boxers are nothing but rags under his bum.

Peter hunches in on himself and his head rests on his aching knees. Budelis snorts to herself and he flushes red, the hot tears from earlier come down in a rush.

_I'm a kid, I'm a kid, I'm a kid!_

Ponas grips his chin and she has a gentle smile on her face, and it infuriates him like nothing else before. His chest burns and the tears spill over faster. She caresses his chin and Budelis laughs again when his nostrils flare.

Peter spits on her.

Budelis stops her laughter and simply watches, her hand rests on her thigh though, where the gun mocks him. Ponas uses the shreds of Peter's shorts and wipes the spit that trails down her face, the crease by her lip deepens as her mouth pulls down.

There's a fresh flame in her eyes. She takes her palm and hits Peter's nose with a new wave of anger, the crack not nearly as satisfying for her as it should've been.

She grabs a strip of the boxers and forces it in Peter's mouth and ties it until his tongue laps over the cloth, his flushed cheeks puffed up and Ponas doesn't seem done yet.

She goes to the lone tray in the corner of the room. When she returns she has a shock collar in her small hand, they're usually soft but they manage to leave another bruise on his cheek.

His ears ring from the slap and Ponas wraps the collar around his neck, then hauls him to his feet. He attempts to hunch in on himself.

Budelis whacks him with the cane and he arches his back in pain. He's huffing into the gag. His cheeks are still pink.

Tikslas isn't there, which he counts as a small mercy.

They drag him into a new room with a medical table, dead center, and a tray of tools. Pliers, knives, some he can't identify and he clenches his eyes shut. They force him to lay down.

He's exposed and he feels their judgement.

Peter prays today is _that_ day, where they go a bit too far and he doesn't make it. He banishes the thought and tries to think of Ned's reassuring words.

"I didn't want to introduce you to these so soon, Pete,” Ponas runs her fingers along the edge of the tray.

She stops, "Actually I lied. Anyways, you know that tool I mentioned earlier."

When Peter doesn't respond, she takes the gag from his mouth. Ponas huffs.

She brings something into his vision and it's this metal body divided into spoon-like segments, a screw he can see through his bleary vision. He begins to cry and Budelis flips him onto his side.

Ponas smirks, the choke pear felt light in her hands.

* * *

"Why European themes?" Ned asks.

Tikslas looks up startled and the tomato from his dripping sandwich falls to the floor. The man frowns down at it.

_How did this idiot manage to kidnap them?_

The man hums in question and Ned repeats himself. He pushes down the flare of anger.

"Norma likes European shit, I don't know," Tikslas grumbles and chomps into his sandwich. Ned stares incredulously.

The man's eyes blow wide and for a few seconds it's silent between them. Then he continues munching on his sandwich. Ned feels his eye twitch.

"I'm definitely gonna pay for that but..." Tikslas stammers for a few moments, "We all use fake names."

"...I know?" Ned squints.

"Oh." Tikslas hums to himself and continues to scarf down his sandwich, acting as if Ned wasn't even there, which he was fine with.

The boy looked around and noticed the walls turning golden from the sun, which was beginning to set in the hidden horizon.

Ned slumps against the wall and worry crawls up his throat, the thought of Peter being tortured right now is fresh on his mind and he feels his teeth grinding against each other.

"Tikslas? W-What are they doing?" Ned licks his lips, "What are they doing to Peter?"

Tikslas sucks on his fingers, for a _very_ long time and his thumb comes out of his mouth with a _pop!_ noise, but he sticks his middle fingers in his mouth and sucks on that too. Ned grumbles under his breath in Filipino until the man laughs loudly. It echoes throughout the room.

"M'name is Liam," Tikslas, or _Liam_ , says breathlessly and a large smile spreads over his face.

Ned stares.

"Tough crowd," Liam mutters and Ned snarls in response. The man holds his hands up defensively.

"Your friend, Peter, he's gonna be fine. It's you that you should be worried about." 

Ned stops and his brows drop considerably low, his lips forming a frown and he ponders what he just heard.

He doesn't give the man a response, deciding not to play his game, but he can feel the man's gaze on him. He turns, they make eye contact. Liam bursts into song.

 _"...Don't you worry, don't you worry child,"_ The words are sung low under his breath almost as if he's sharing a secret between the two of them. 

He repeats it, repeats it and repeats until Ned's heart is climbing up his throat and his hands are trembling.

" _See, Heaven's got a plan for you..."_

* * *

Peter's never felt so embarrassed in his life.

A flash of bright light to his left. He sees it behind his closed lids, and the tears spill over, his cheeks puffed up. There are angry, red welts on his back and some on impact bled.

His knees are bruising from his position on the floor. Ponas continues taking pictures of him.

Peter's sobs are muffled by the muzzle Budelis forced him to wear when she got tired of him whimpering. His eyes are red and he's forced to look into the camera lens.

They help him into a standing position and put him in a pair of boxers, his tears beginning to dry on his face. He hiccups into the muzzle.

"I'm sure Stark will pay us a pretty penny." Budelis mocks.

The tears start back up again.

His gaze is towards the floor and today, they don't reprimand him for it, and he can't help but notice his limp. 

He tries not to think of the pain and the way he screamed. He had broke the restraints on accident, and Ponas wasn't too happy about it. They reach the 'cell' all too quickly and he feels rocks in his stomach.

Ned is staring out the barred windows and flicking his fingers back and forth, only perking up when new light floods in. Tikslas stops his humming and stands from his crouch by the door. 

Budelis takes it upon herself to shove Peter forward and kick him in his back, a smirk on her face.

Peter screams in pain and his head smacking against the concrete floors, the sound reverberating throughout the room along with Ned's shout, and he sobs into his muffle. He curls in on himself instinctively.

All background noise sounds like the school bell at Midtown Tech and he finds himself missing May and Tony and MJ a lot right now.

The door slams shut and Ned's shoes are scuffing against the floor, attempting to scoot himself closer to his inconsolable friend where he pulls him onto his lap. Peter sobs in pain, his muzzle makes it hard to breathe.

"It's okay, it's okay,” Ned reassures and he rocks them back and forth. Peter doesn't have it in him to hide his whimpers. They stop rocking.

"Peter we're gonna get out," Ned's crying into his hair and they're holding the sides of his face, fumbling to remove the muzzle and shock collar still wrapped around his best friend's neck.

Peter scrambles away from him with wide eyes and he's sobbing _no!_ and Ned cries louder because he doesn't know what to do.

Budelis' threat is still fresh in his mind and he cowers away from his best friend's comforting touch, wrapping his arms around his stomach and he lets his head hang. Ned starts humming a familiar tune.

_Settle down, it'll all be clear_

He wonders what Tony is doing right now, he hopes his mentor is cuddling Pepper and telling her how much she matters.

Steve would talk to Natasha in the common room at four thirteen in the morning sometimes and he'd carry her to her bed, Sam would be cussing at Bucky or Steve but he'd never raise his voice at Natasha. Clint is hugging his kids extra tight before they go to school and Bruce is teaching Vision different things. 

He hopes they're okay.

_Don't pay no mind to the demons,_

Aunt May usually falls asleep on the uncomfortable couch Uncle Ben had bought on sale back in 2008 and the television would still play loudly down the hall.

She would watch the cooking channel and the burnt dinner would be scraped off into the trash can, it always brought a smile to Peter's face. He'd carry her to bed and cover her.

She'd always been beautiful, but she looked young again when she was asleep.

_They fill you with fear_

Hell, MJ would randomly stop answering his texts past eleven at night and she no doubt fell asleep with her favorite book on her chest.

She'd carry on the conversation in the morning as if there wasn't eight hours of radio silence and he loved that about her.

_The trouble, it might drag you down_

Tony always smelled like motor oil and when they hugged it brought tranquility to Peter's fast-paced thoughts and the tension would melt from them both.

Pepper would snort and press a kiss to his forehead before rushing off to a meeting. Tony would hug him extra tight when other people weren't looking.

_If you get lost,_

_You can always be found._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fbi agent is concerned about my search history.
> 
> OKAY! I LOOKED UP PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE, HUMAN MUZZLES AND TRIED MY BEST
> 
> i decided to look up some different methods for pt and things like sensory deprivation, humiliation, sensory overload, isolation, etc. all popped up so i tried to use that in this chapter! i researched for a bit about this but i'm not sure if i wrote it the way i want to.
> 
> also i wrote this in a couple hours and updates won’t always be this fast!
> 
> thank you for the comments and kudos btw <3


	3. lost track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s nostrils flared as he willed the tears not to fall. Everything burned within him.
> 
> Liam has his head cocked to the side and he’s watching the boy intently, a sad smile on his face.
> 
> ”I hope you won’t blame yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kept re-writing this and i like this version the best but that’s not saying much

Ponas pulls up a chair and straddles it, crossing her wrists and she swipes her tongue over her teeth. Her sharp eyes pierce through him. She seems... rather upset at the moment but she doesn’t utter a word, and simply stares.

Eventually she cracks. She leans back until her arms aren’t bent anymore and she digs the ends of her fingers into the chair, a sigh falling from her red lips.

He can see the thoughts rushing through her head, trying to remember the practiced monologue and he grits his teeth at the thought. He wants to kick her in the face.

”Do you know why you’re here Ned?” Ponas asks with the quirk of her brow.

He wriggles uncomfortably in the rope that's burning into his wrists but he holds her gaze. He doesn’t speak.

”It’s quite simple really, I’m sure you already know.” She says, “You're sharp as a tack, truly. You don't get enough credit if I say so myself."

Ned glares at her, his eyes squinted and she smiled at him. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a French braid. She seems to be ready for something big that's coming, ready for a fight. Ponas is scuffing the edge of her boots against the concrete and her fingers twitch slightly, clenching into a fist after a few moments. 

She sits stiffly in the chair. She's starting to grow irritated that he's not responding, Budelis brings over a pair of pliers.

"Peter is... adamant, we bring you no physical harm. And that's not what I want to do, so I agreed." Ponas gazes at the pliers in her hand, "For the most part anyway. You see, Peter can be very strong, capable, really and it's a shame the _Avengers_ don't give him a chance, but I can see why now. He's too... weak at the moment. It's easy pulling him apart."

She smiles like she's reliving a memory and Ned snarls, jerking in his seat and her smile grows wider. With a quirk of her brow she leans forward, their noses touching. Her voice is smooth from the base of her throat.

"To the _Avengers_ , people like _Thor_ and _Steve Rogers_ , hell Peter Parker is for the birds."

Ned scoffs, because everyone knows that's not true in the slightest and he smirks at her. Ponas cocks her head like a puppy and pouts, then she laughs loudly and Budelis is staring, an amused expression on her face. He sighs and she taunts him, mocking whimpers in a low hum and his anger flares up again, so he head butts her.

Ponas growls and retaliates by grabbing the gun on her person, and she points it directly at his knee and pulls the trigger.

It becomes white noise after that. He isn’t sure if he screams and cries, but he’s writhing in pain and she’s staring down at him, content with what she had just done.

”Like I was saying before, pulling Peter apart is simpler than it should be. So our work should be done here soon, and the Avengers get to admire my work, and their failure.”

Ponas walks around him in circles, the fabric of her pants rubs together and Ned grunts in pain, his nails scratching at the chair he’s tied to. She says something that doesn’t reach his ears.

Ned pants heavily, sweat dots his hairline and he wants to leave already. He wants to go back to that stupid, lonely cell and hold Peter in his lap as the sun begins to set. His eyes feel hot just thinking about it.

He laughs instead. It starts slow and hidden by his pants and it’s breathless, but he looks Ponas in the eyes and laughs in her face.

She grimaces openly, nearly rolls her eyes when he sits upright abruptly. Budelis has her hand on her gun quick enough to have him raising his brow.

“You think you’re so clever aren’t you?” Ned pants breathlessly and he spits blood onto the floor, Ponas stills. His heart beats a little faster.

Gosh, why did he have to open his mouth?

He gives himself a few seconds, because he truly didn’t know what he was doing, and he was very close to freaking out.

”European themes.” Ned says and Ponas cocks her head again, but he sees it in her eyes. He sees that flicker of emotion behind those sharp orbs and she knows that he knows. Or at least has a general idea.

”The Lithuanian, medieval torture devices and methods that originated from Europe. But you’re not really from there, are you? Your accent isn’t... right. Completely off if I say so myself.” Ned quirks his brow.

It’s funny watching them both go slightly rigid and Budelis grits her teeth, clenching her hand out of anger.

Ponas rolls her shoulders and she smiles, and Ned notices she has some lipstick on her teeth. He smiles too, because she’s not always a clean cut.

”Is that what you think?” Ponas says.

”I know I’m right, ‘cause you’re from California. Your accent wasn’t really _that_ y’know?” Ned cocks his head to the side and mockingly whimpers, she growls in return.

Budelis yanks on Ponas’ elbow hard enough she stumbles, but she doesn’t punch Ned like she wanted to. Instead she sits down in the chair that’s off to the side and quietly seethes.

Ned thinks it’s funny and he snorts. Budelis grabs his chin and her sharp nails dig into his skin, and he grunts in discomfort but she shoots him a look.

”I’m not surprised you figured it out.” She says with a gentle tone, “You’re very smart Ned. Smarter than Peter.”

Ned hates the way his heart quickens, beating rapidly at the false compliment, it’s not even true but damn him for never getting recognition. He averts his eyes and she shakes his jaw until he looks at her again.

She looks him up and down and her eyes fall onto his bleeding knee where she kneels beside it, wrapping a dirty rag around the wound.

”I see it in you, Ned. You’re tired of living in his shadow, aren’t you?” Budelis rests her chin on her fist, “Peter seems to forget about you sometimes right? And it upsets you?”

Ned doesn’t give in, he doesn’t answer her and she takes it as an answer anyways. Budelis smiles like a child on Halloween digging through their bags of candy and she had just found her favorite.

She stands at her full height. It’s only then does he realize just how tall she is, completely towering over him as she folds her arms across her chest. He gulps quietly.

”For how smart the _Avengers_ supposed to be, it’s just plain stupidity. A house divided against itself cannot stand, as you know Mister Leeds.”

Ned’s still groaning in pain from his wound and Budelis takes a step back, seemingly remembering something. She scratches his chin.

”I have a call to make, and it’ll determine if the _Avengers_ are willing to go for broke.” Budelis’ eyes are piercing, “It is you, that should be counting your days, Mister Leeds.”

She leaves without a word after and the door slams shut behind the two of them, and Ned has never felt this scared.

He’s not an idiot but he hopes she’s bluffing, that she wouldn’t dare and even he knows it’s possible. He can’t help the tears that comes to his eyes.

He hopes the Avengers get there soon.

* * *

There’s an unidentified pressure on his wrist, then his chains are sliding off and his eyes are flying open.

Tikslas stands in front of him, unwrapping the chains from Peter’s wrists and biting his bottom lip. It’s when he goes for the ankles.

Peter flinches back, the pain in his bottom skyrockets but he’s pushing himself farther, farther backward until his head connects with the concrete wall painfully.

Tikslas’ eyes are wide but his mouth opens and closes repeatedly, until he lands on an unsure expression, “I’m Liam.”

He finds out the kid doesn’t necessarily care too much about his name. He fiddles with his hands, and suddenly he misses his daughter that’s in college.

Peter’s glaring at him, his anger so intense in his eyes and Liam smiles, because the boy has pretty eyes and he reminds him of his daughter. The kid’s hair is overgrown across his forehead and it hangs in his eyes.

Kid’s precious, until he’s not.

Liam takes a step forward despite the kid’s hot gaze on him and kneels in front of him. His eyes become squinted.

He wouldn’t admit it but his hands are trembling as he reaches forward, taking off the muzzle Budelis made the kid wear, and then he’s falling back after a loud bang.

Peter lunges at him until his knees scrape against the floor. He’s nearly growling and the muzzle has teeth marks on it’s inside, but the kid starts yanking on the chains wrapped around his ankles.

“Yo relax!” Liam exclaims, his hands out in front of him. His eyes are blown wide from surprise.

“Get the fuck away from me or else I’ll shatter your skull!” Peter snarls and his eyebrows are arched high, his hands forming clenched fists and they shake.

”Get away from me!”

His voice reverberated around the room and Liam flinched at the amount of venom in this _kid’s_ voice.

They stare at each other for a long time, Peter panting heavily and Liam decides to sit down across from him, crisscross-applesauce like they’re in fucking kindergarten.

Liam drums his fingers against his knees with pursed lips. He hums and bobs his head. Up, down. Side to side. Again.

Peter hunches in on himself with a sigh of defeat. His eyes sting terribly with tears, his chest felt tight also.

”Okay, I’m here because I overheard something.” Liam starts after a few moments.

”Oh so we’re best friends now?”

”It has something to do with your best friend, yes.” Liam retorts.

That shuts him up almost immediately. When he woke up, he had started panicking when he realized that Ned wasn’t there.

Ponas was crazy, completely out of her mind, and he could’ve swore that there was gunshot earlier. A single one, one that elicited fear deep in his heart, and it hurt and beat rapidly ever since.

Maybe Ned was just a few doors down, blood covering his dirty clothes or his tear-stricken face, his heart no longer beating and his eyes blank. Maybe he was already gone.

Peter’s nostrils flared as he willed the tears not to fall. Everything burned within him.

Liam has his head cocked to the side and he’s watching the boy intently, a sad smile on his face.

”I hope you won’t blame yourself.”

The sentence is abrupt, and it echoes in the cell. It’s a constant ringing. Another jolt of fear runs through his core.

A few tears fall and he’s staring at Liam with hot eyes, and his lips are pinched.

”I don’t think you’d recover.” Liam sing-songs, tapping along to an imaginary beat. His eyes aren’t like Budelis’ or Ponas’.

They’re brown. Just brown, like muddy ground after heavy rainfall and they’re nearly as dark as his pupil. He doesn’t have any eyelashes either, and Peter can see the bumps on his lids.

It won’t matter in the end, because the Avengers are going to come rescue them. They will, Ned and him will get out alive.

”You look good in red though-“

”Is this some sort of sick joke?!” Peter shouts. He feels like he’s being stabbed right in the center of his heart repeatedly.

It’s paralyzing to him and he’s shaking, tears clinging to his eyelashes. His lips are chapped. He hates they way they feel when they press against each other.

”What is your problem?” His voice breaks.

”Please, _please_ just let us _go._ Please I’m begging you.” He’s openly crying now and Liam simply stares blankly.

He hunches in on himself and his lips crack open from being so dry. Tears and snot drip down and he’s embarrassed, but gosh he just wants to go _home._

Aunt May would rock him back and forth whenever he failed a test, failed to save someone, and she would kiss his cheek until he would fall asleep in her lap.

That was home, not this stupid cell that hurts his ass and is covered in his blood. This stupid cell that keeps him from his family, keeps Ned from his family and little sister who would start sixth grade soon.

Street vendors and grimy alleys, that was home. So was the Avengers Tower in the distance even if Tony sold it before the Homecoming fiasco. And those stupid _Coca-Cola_ bottle cap earring MJ made just for the hell of it.

He misses everything.

Liam leaves with a crack of lightning in the distance. It starts to rain outside and the smell wanders into the cell. A chill settles into his bones but he doesn’t care anymore.

He’s able to rest his head on his knee. He’d never been able to do that before.

The concrete floor is closer now. Cracks run all across the room and some even split off into two. He slams his hand down, it cracks.

Cracks into a spider web.

He misses home, where MJ would ask him to help her braid her hair, then get frustrated when he kept breathing down her back as he was shorter than her.

Where Bruce made Peter tea when he would pull all-nighters and invite him to the lab to knock out some of his work. He’d never sent him to bed, because he understood that work needed to get done at unreasonable hours sometimes.

Natasha took him shopping once at the mall, somebody told them she was a great mother. She’d gone rigid until they left, quiet in the car, but he filled up the tension-filled air with stories about Academic Decathlon and Uncle Ben.

Peter traces the cracked floor with delicate fingers, there’s tears in his inner corners that simply won’t fall. He feels like a stupid painting in Pablo Picasso’s blue period.

He just wants to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave comments/kudos!:)


End file.
